New Day, Every Day
New Day, Every Day
When she got up this morning, she told him that it had snowed overnight. Snowed! A new word. I wondered it meant. Then she told him there was about three inches on the ground outside. Ah! Outside. On the ground. There was a clue. My first impulse was to jump up on the windowsill and look out window, but she has all kinds of stuff on the windowsills and I get scolded if jump up and knock something off. I decided to investigate later when I took my morning stroll outside.
He gave a groan when she said snowed and rolled over. Nothing unusual there, he's lazy. At least that's what she says, and I have to go along with her on that even though I hate her. Well I don't always hate her. After all, she's the one that feeds me, so she scores points for that.
I hate her because she took me to the doctor and the doctor stuck me with a needle and I went to sleep. When I woke up I had a sore tummy and I've never felt quite the same since. When he came home from work, she told him she'd had me fixed. I've never found out what she meant, but she told him she didn't want a lot of Tom's in the back yard all the time, nor a bunch of kittens. So what I think she's done is have the doctor do something to me that will stop me from having kittens. She never asked my permission. I'd have liked to have a few litters. I hate her.
Still, I guess I'm lucky, I was speaking to Mabel next door and not only has she been fixed, but they had her toes cut off, too. Mabel says it drives her crazy not being able to scratch her neck properly when she itches, so I've got to count myself lucky there.
She got him to make me a scratching post and after a bit of arguing, I agreed to use it instead of messing up the furniture. Furniture is more fun, but they're strangely protective of furniture. Besides, I don't want them to throw me out. Some of those Tom's she doesn't want to come around (they do come) are abandoned cats. There's an orange one who comes by at night who's kinda cute and I slip out through my cat-flap door and we have fun even though I've been fixed. I am female, hear me yowl. (I'm not really sure what that means, but she says things like that.)
When she came back into the bedroom from whatever she'd gone away to do, she leaned over and kissed him. Then she asked him to be a pet (Huh!) and get up and shovel a pathway to the car. He groaned again. Then she promised to fix him pancakes if he'd do it. He likes pancakes a lot. So do I. I know, cats aren't supposed to like pancakes, but those tidbits soaked in butter and syrup he slips me under the table are perfectly yummy, yum. The very thought of pancakes makes my mouth water.
He still didn't move so I jumped up on the bed and gave him a kiss, too. I'm not allowed up on the new bedspread, but she'd gone into the bathroom and didn't see me, so where was the harm? He jerked his head back and opened his eyes before rolling over and sitting up on the edge of the bed. Huh! She couldn't get him up, but I did. Not many men can resist a kiss from a beautiful princess like me. But he had my sympathy.
You see she's always after him to do something and it's like he always does what she wants him to do. He's nice and I really like him, but he's not independent like a Tom. One way or another she manipulates him and he behaves as if he's a trained monkey. She'll interrupt him even if he's seriously busy. You know, like when he's stroking me, and that makes me mad. I hate her. She makes me plain scratch-ass angry. I mean, it's plain inconsiderate to make him stop in the middle of a petting session. Oh, sometimes she'll pick me up and continue the petting if I let her. It's not the same though. She doesn't scratch behind my ears, or under my chin the way he does. Besides, I like a straight uninterrupted petting session and that's all there is to it.
All went well, though. He cleared the path to the car and made sure it would start; she made the pancakes. He gave me two of the yummy tidbits. She nagged him about that. Told him it was bad for me. Huh! What about all that stuff she shovels down her throat and then complains about putting on weight?
Then she switched on that TV thing that has pictures and makes noise. The woman who looks a lot like her with blond hair and blue eyes and talks about the weather was on telling about how slippery and bad the roads were. That's when she decided not to go in to work. He said he had to go, but he takes the bus anyway and it didn't matter.
After he left, she started to fuss around in the house. She went to my litter box and changed the litter. She's good about that, keeps it clean. As soon as she finished I used it just to show her I appreciate what she'd done. Then I thought that maybe I'd get in a quick snooze, but she got the vacuum out and I remembered that iit had snowed outside. I poked my head through the cat-flap door, and stopped in shock. Everything was so white. So, I thought, that's what happened when it snowed overnight; the world becomes white and very, very peculiar. I gave an involuntary shiver and it ran straight down my body. My tail swished rapidly.
Part of me wanted to pull back, find a warm, quiet corner to curl up in and sleep until everything returned to normal. But I'm a cat, right. I had to find out what was going on.
I pushed all the way out and went up to the white stuff – the snowed stuff – and put my nose down to smell. There was really no smell to it. It was cold and made my nose tingle, but that's about all. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I put a paw onto it and the paw sank right into it. I waited for a few seconds in case I had to pull the paw out fast, but apart from its being cold I felt nothing wrong. I stepped out and all four paws in the stuff. It wasn't at all bad. Fun in a way. Not anything I'd want all the time, but different enough to intrigue me.
I'd scarcely started out when small, flitting white things started to float down from who knows where. I wondered if they were good to eat and made a grab at one. It slipped away and I grabbed at another and it slipped away, too. After several more attempts I gave up trying to catch them in the air and decided to catch one as it hit the snow. Carefully, I watched to see where one landed before I pounced. The snow pushed aside as I hit, but whatever they were, they always managed to get away. I soon gave up on that and sat down to think and plan.
I'd only been sitting for a short moment when something plopped at my side. I jumped, but it was only Spark, the tabby from the other side from Mabel's. Spark said he'd been watching me and I amused him. He told me I was trying to catch snowflakes and that wasn't possible.
Flakes! I knew that word, but I'd never known what it meant. Flake! That's what she called him when she was mad at him. She often called him that and told him he'd never amount to much. He always acted hurt when she spoke to him like that and I felt bad for him. I hate her.
Spark was a big handsome Tom about eight years old, and I tried to do the nose thing with him, but he pulled back. I'd tried it before with him. He was one of my failures and I don't know why. He always asked if I wasn't worried about Cattus finding out. Cattus, of course, being my orange tom friend. I shrugged and said I wasn't worried about him, but Spark just looked at me serious like.
You know, I wonder if he isn't like that man friend of hers where she works that she's always talking about. When he acts jealous over her friendship with him she says her friend is gay and that he's not to worry. Then she goes over and sits on his lap and kisses him and tells him that her friend isn't even Bi, whatever that is, and isn't interested in women. She gets a funny look in her pretty blue eyes ones, and I wonder if she's having an affair. Maybe she has poor morals.
After that she'll often leave the room to get drinks and I pick up his unhappy vibes. Then I go over and jump up on his lap. He'll start to tickle my ears and she'll come back, usually with a beer for him and red wine for herself. When she sees me comfortable like that she'll stick out her tongue. I swish my tail in return and twitch my nose. He never seems to notice.
Anyway, I wonder if Spark is gay, not that I know what that means.
Spark didn't stay long. Then a lot more of what he'd called 'snowflakes' floated down filling the air. They were bigger, fluffy ones that stuck to my fur. I licked at a few of them. Surprise, surprise! They turned out to be a strange sort of water. I was thinking maybe it was time to go inside, but then she opened the big door and told me I was a stupid cat to be sitting out there in the snow. She was right, of course, it wasn't a smart thing to do, but did she have to call me stupid. I hate her. I waited a minute after she closed the door just to show my independence before slipping back through my cat-flap.
Inside she was still messing about doing whatever, so I made my toilet, licking all the snowflakes from my body and polishing my beautiful grey fur until it shone. I really am so very beautiful. Finished, I took a strolled over to her so that she could admire me, but she was in one of her annoying moods and ignored me. I hate her when she's like that. Then as I was about to jump up on my favorite chair, in she prances with her new novel and sits down.
I protested, but when she'd settled I decided to hop up onto her lap. She moved her book to let me do it. It was comfy up there and, although I don't like to admit it, nice. She started to stroke my back as she read. It felt good. Not as good as when he does it, no ear tickles, but good. It felt so pleasant, I started to purr. Really, she's not so bad – sometimes.
Last edited by marie73; 09-15-2010 at 12:00 AM.
Reason: fixed title